


When All Hell Breaks Loose

by rootbeer (orphan_account)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Future, BAMF Stiles, Captivity, Established Relationship, Hurt Derek, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Memory Loss, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Stiles Fixes Things
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-05
Updated: 2015-09-14
Packaged: 2018-03-29 05:24:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3884002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/rootbeer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After three years, Stiles finally finds Derek. Or what's left or him anyway</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Better Late Than Never

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: FOR MENTION OF PAST RAPE AND PHYSICAL ABUSE! I do not get graphic with any of it but I want you to be aware of what you're getting yourself into.
> 
> Derek has been held in captivity for a long time where he was seriously mentally, physically, and sexually abused. He has issues as a result of this. 
> 
> He also is drugged while he is their prisoner. It takes a long time for the drug to get out of his system.

_Warmth. The Wolf can remember warmth. He remembers a pleasant weight as he laid on his back, of a man curled up in his arms. They laid chest to chest with the man’s chin tucked over the Wolf’s shoulder and one of the man’s hands buried in the Wolf’s hair to scratch softly at his scalp._

_They sank into one another like this—just them, tangled up together like it was all they would ever need or ever want. The Wolf can remember happiness, holding him—this man that did not belong to him but with him._

_“I love you, Derek,” the man told him and though the Wolf can’t remember what his voice sounded like anymore he can still feel his breath, wet and warm against his neck._

_The Wolf tightened his hold on the man, not to trap him there but to remind him he was always safe and welcome in those arms. “I love you, too.”_

And that’s it. That is all the Wolf can remember. But it is enough because that is how he knows.

The hunters tell him he is a monster, that he was always been in their captivity, that he has never had a name. Most of the other captives begin to believe them in time.

But the Wolf knows better.

His name is Derek. Once he was happy and warm and free. And there was a time when someone loved him, and he loved that man. Derek doesn’t know who that man was, only that he was perfect. How could someone perfect love a monster?

The answer was obvious. At least once upon a time, Derek was not a monster.

 

* * *

 

It was cold. It was always cold in the cells. Cold and dark and silent. Except there was noise. Why was there noise? Talking. There was talking just outside the cell door. People—guards—hunters were standing beyond the metal doorway to the cell.

Derek pulled his knees to his chest, taking up the least amount of space that he could. He wished there wasn’t talking because when there was talking nearby, the door would open soon after. He wished the door would not open. But it did. It always opened to let in cruel words and hits and people.

This time the door let in a new face. Derek gazed up at the new figure that walked in. He did not recognize it as one of the regular men that came to hurt him. This hunter was not of this place.

He was a tall man with pale skin and small moles and bright eyes. He had dark clothes on and a big leather jacket that looked worn and warm. The look on his face was cold and hard, a practiced pull of his eyes that seemed to intimidate with a look.

Their eyes met and Derek shrank in fear. This hunter however, stopped just in the doorway, staring with completely still limbs. His eyes widened a moment, his lips parting to allow him to suck in a particularly deep breath.

And then the new hunter was moving again. He was stepping in quickly, looking over his shoulders with a dark smirk. “This one give you any trouble?” His voice was distorted, as if Derek was hearing it with cotton in his ears.

A part of Derek knew he was drugged—was always drugged.

Another body followed the new hunter into the confines of the cell. This one Derek recognized, Dennis, a hunter with a knife obsession. “Not really. He used to be one of the more vicious, but he’s been here awhile.”

The new hunter just nodded, looking back at Derek to grin like he was seconds from splitting him open. “I’ll take this one.”

Derek tried to follow the two men with is eyes but his vision was swimming from the strain. His grip on his knees was beginning to slack as fear filled his body.

Dennis looked surprised. “This one? I thought you said you guys wanted to relocate the more troublesome types.”

The new man shrugged, licking his lower lip and chuckling. “I don’t know, he looks like he could be a lot of fun.”

Derek wanted to howl. To cry. To run and hide. But he could not. The chains on his wrists and ankles seemed too heavy. His throat was dry and empty.

But the man’s words made Dennis roll his eyes and smile back. “Ahhh, so he’s a selfish candidate.”

The new hunter just kept his focus fixed on Derek. “Yeah, admittedly. But they let me choose who I want. You guys will get paid the same so I wouldn’t worry.”

Dennis leaned against the doorway, more interested in the new man than Derek. “It must be nice to work with the Argents. But I must admit, you’ve given yourself quite the reputation, Stilinski. They tell horror stories about you and what you can get out of these monsters.”

 _Argent. Stilinski._ Derek knew those names. Everyone knew those names. Argents ran the largest werewolf captivity center on the coast. And Stilinski was their main…trainer. Hunter. Torturer. Whatever way you wanted to paint it.

Stilinski’s eyes went back to Dennis, looking him over quickly and then looking away again. “I’m good at my job. Not my fault these dogs don’t like me.”

Dennis laughed then, like the new hunter had made a funny joke. Maybe he had. Derek didn’t know. “I don’t know if I should let you take this one. He’s a favorite around here, you know? Aren’t you, Dog?” Dennis demanded.

“Yes, Sir,” Derek whispered, his voice strained and rough. He hadn’t even considered the question, only what answer he was meant to give. A knee-jerk reaction. Self-preservation.

Stilinski went sharply ridged, his shoulder straightening and his mouth pulling into a frown. He tipped his head to the side, looking over at Dennis with lowered lashes. “You gonna try to stop me from taking this one?” His hand tapped about his belt where a gun was holstered. His face was no longer cruel and vicious, now sharp and fierce. He was frightening.

Dennis’ breath came in harshly then, looking at Stilinski and apparently coming to the same conclusion as Derek. “Of—of course not. We’re always happy to oblige the Argents. Especially with you. We know you’re good at…at your job.”

Stilinski seemed to ease at that, a smile faintly tracing his lips. “Well, we can figure out the paperwork, but this one…this one is coming with me.” Stilinski began to move towards Derek with slow, quiet steps.

This seemed to shock Dennis. “Right now?’

Stilinski shrugged again, maintaining eye contact with Derek. “Why beat around the bush?”

He looked away from Derek again to turn to Dennis. Derek lost focus on the conversation, his hands shaking to the point where the metal around his arms and leg clinked together. Neither of the men paid him any mind.

He tried to focus on what he knew. His name. He squeezed his eyes tight like he could shut out reality.

He didn’t know how much time had passed before he opened his eyes again to find Stilinski staring down at him. He stopped in front of Derek, kneeling down close so that they were at eye level. His voice dipped down to a deep rumble, a soft hush that barely made a whisper. “I’ve found you.”

Derek watched a slight relaxation around the eyes, all sudden warmth there in his gaze. He looked younger as he stared at Derek. Early to mid-twenties. Derek didn’t know what to make of it. This strange hunter. But it scared him.

He felt a prick at his arm, a numbing fire that licked along his veins like syrup instead of blood. Derek hadn’t noticed Dennis standing there with the syringe.

But at least for that moment, reality shut him out instead. He was swallowed by the darkness.

 

* * *

 

 

 

When Derek awoke he was in the back of a large transport van. His arms were chained to the shackles on his legs which in turn were chained to the floor of the van. Cold metal.

But the van seemed to be at a still, unmoving at that moment. Derek briefly wondered where he was. He then concluded that it didn’t matter. Every place meant the same thing. Pain.

A moment later, the door to the back of the van opened. Light poured in, stinging at Derek’s eyes and making him squint and jerk away without giving his body permission. He blinked rapidly, his eyes adjusting so slowly to the stream of sunlight.

A figure stepped into the light, blocking a bit of the sun from Derek’s eyes. “I’m going to unchain you and get you inside. Then we can talk, okay?”

Remembering the exchange between this man and Dennis within his cell, Derek froze. He let out a whimper as the man neared him, trying to scent the air out of habit and finding himself unable to. Drugs wouldn’t let him.

Stilinski paused, putting his hands palms up to approach Derek slowly, inching forward. “Shhh,” he whispered as he reached for the connection between Derek and the van. “You’re okay. I’ve got you now. You’re going to be okay.”

The hunter helped Derek out of the van, leading him with firm, but careful hands to move around the van. Any thought of fighting him was pushed aside. Derek’s limbs still felt like lead and his mind was warped mist. He couldn’t concentrate on anything but the soft, warm feeling of a hand on his shoulder, urging him onward.

Where he was didn’t even register until he was stepping into a large, open spaced entry to a house. Derek wasn’t sure if he’d ever been in a house before, but he recognized what he was so he figured he must.

“Let’s get you to the couch so you can rest a moment,” Stilinski murmured and Derek wasn’t certain what the tone of his voice meant. It was completely different from what he’d heard earlier in his cell. But Derek let himself be lead into a new room with warm lighting and soft looking cushions. “Okay. You’re okay. Just sit on the couch, alright? You’re okay now.”

The insistent whispers of comfort made Derek on edge. He felt goosebumps on his arms, and the strong desire to bolt. But he was softly pushed down onto warm, spongy cushions of the couch. Everything about him was unclear and mixed about. His awareness shifted and flickered.

Stilinski sat in the chair across from him, studying him intently as Derek wished he had the energy to do back.

“Okay, I know you’re tired and probably really want a shower but we need to—I mean I don’t know how—it’s just been so long so I need to see how you’re doing.”

Derek didn’t understand what the man was saying but he tried very hard to pay attention, to avoid punishment. He was so confused, unsure of why he wasn’t in a cell and where he was or why.

“Okay, let’s start easy. Can you tell me your name?”

Derek felt himself go still, his heart pounding in his chest and his vision swimming in his panic. But still, he found himself opening his mouth to answer the direct question. “Derek.”

“Good, good,” the man said encouragingly. “Alright, and what’s my name.”

“Stilinski,” Derek said after a moment, tumbling over his tongue as it tried to work with him.

The hunter’s kind smile falter a moment and something scary flashed in his eyes. “Yes,” he agreed, “but—Derek, who am I? Do you know who I am?”

“You work for the Argents,” Derek said slowly, stuttering the sounds out. “You are a hunter.”

The man’s eyes went wide with something that closely resembled panic. “Derek—Jesus, Derek do you remember me? Do you remember Stiles? Stiles Stilinski. From before you were in the cell.”

“There was nothing before the cell,” Derek answered quickly, telling the man what he knew he wanted to hear.

“No!” Stilinski shouted then, eyes wide.

Derek got scared. He didn’t have an answer. He didn’t know what the man wanted him to say or how to avoid getting punished. His body began to shake and his eyes filled with tears. “Please, please I don’t know. I’m sorry. Sorry. I’m sorry.”

“No, Shhhh,” Stilinski hushed him right away, reaching towards him until Derek flinched back. He drew away then, just staring at Derek. “Derek, do you remember anything from before you were a prisoner?”

Derek wouldn’t tell him about the man. He would never tell the hunters about the man he once loved. “No,” he said dutifully. “There was nothing before the cell. I am a monster—I have always been locked up for the safety of others.”

There were tears in Stilinski’s eyes. Derek didn’t know what to do about that. But there were tears in the man’s eyes. “Okay, Derek. Okay, that’s alright.” The man’s hands fumbled around his pockets to pull out a cell phone. He clicked buttons with shaky fingers and held it up to his ear, stepping away from Derek and into the next room.

“Lydia?” Derek heard Stilinski say into the phone. His tone was an urgent whisper, something that Derek would call scared if he didn’t know better. Hunters didn’t get scared.

Derek couldn’t focus anymore so he stopped listening, instead focused on the soft, comfort beneath him, wishing it would stay. It felt like clouds. It wasn’t cold. Time could have gone on forever or only a moment. But between one blink and the next, Stilinski was standing in front of him with a concerned look on his face. “Derek? I’d really like it if you could come upstairs with me. We’re going to get you a shower and let you get some sleep because you look like you could really use it.”

 _Shower_.

Derek’s mind brought him the fleeting thought of warm water seeping into his skin and loosening his muscles. He thought of steam. He thought of a moment of peace, just the sound of falling water. But the thoughts—half memories of moments too far out of his grasp, were murky and vanished just as fast as they had come. Still, Derek’s gut filled with apprehension as the hunter beckoned him to follow.

Derek’s body didn’t hesitate though. His legs picked him up once more to carry him forward to match the slow, uneasy pace of Stilinski. Derek kept his eyes cast downward as he followed, fumbling forward with an awkward shuffle.

Derek was vaguely aware that the hunter was talking. Soft, encouraging sounds as Derek stepped after him. But even as Derek knew he should pay attention if he didn’t want to get hurt, his brain just couldn’t focus on the words.

The footsteps that were not his own stopped. Words. But Derek only heard sound that meant nothing.

A door opened. A warm hand pushed Derek forward into a new room of white. Bumping flooring. White seat. Tall shower.

Shower. Derek could remember he was supposed to shower.

Unhurried fingers pulled lightly at the fabric across his chest.

Derek blinked heavily with lids made of sand. Off. Okay. Derek stretched his arms upward with the shirt, yanking it over his head. He stepped out of torn pants. He was too tired to be afraid.

He didn’t realize he was moving again until he was standing still and the guiding hand dropped. And then Derek felt warmth. It hit him rapidly, with soothing intensity.  Grime and dirt from his skin began to melt away.

Derek lost focus. He couldn’t keep awareness. He faintly registered soft hands against his skin but he didn’t jerk away. Once more he ignored the sensation, unable to comprehend the world around him. Everything was blurry.

Then the warm water was gone and there was a towel, gentle. Reassuring murmurs. A guiding hand.

A new doorway.

“Derek? Derek this is your room, for you to sleep. I’m going to stay out here, is that okay?”

Derek turned to the hunter and blinked at him. It took a moment for Derek to realize he was supposed to go into the room on his own. He shuffled forward, his eyes flickering around the inside of the room. He was expecting cold cement, chains, darkness.

The room was painted with warm, yellow walls. The floor had a white carpet that felt soft against his toes. And there, at the center of the room, was a bed. A bed.

Panicked and uncertain Derek looked back at the hunter.

A smile. The pull at the corner of the man’s lips looked soft and it scared Derek. “It’s alright, Derek. You can get in the bed. I know you’re tired. You look like you could fall asleep standing. I’m going to go. I won’t come into this room, alright?” he paused. “Derek, do you understand what I’m saying?”

Derek tried to say yes, he really did. But the word caught in his mouth, cracking beneath his teeth. Instead he gave a weary nod. He understood. He just didn’t believe him.

“Okay. Can you climb into the bed for me?”

Derek hesitated only slightly before turning back to the bed. Legs were bringing him closer to the soft blankets before he even registered what he was doing. Carefully, he climbed on top of the bed, his weight sinking slightly into the bed as it had with the couch. It felt foreign, comfortable.

It scared him. He wasn’t given chains about him. He didn’t know what this man had in mind for him but Derek knew it wouldn’t be good.

He laid there, trying to focus on the heart of the hunter still standing just outside the doorway, but slowly Derek’s eyelids refused to stay open and everything went dark again as sleep took hold of him.

 

* * *

 

 

 

Derek awoke to the sound of tapping. He jolted awake, his shoulders lifting off the bed beneath him so fast that his neck cracked. The sound of heavy breathing—his own, filled the air. His eyes darted around, taking in his surroundings. A bedroom. Last night the man had brought him here to this strange house. He didn’t put chains on him, instead brought him to a shower. He stripped Derek of his clothes but didn’t rape him, he washed him. He bought Derek to a new room but he didn’t lock him down, he gave him a bed.

It scared Derek because he didn’t know this game. It was new and he didn’t know the rules. He wasn’t sure when the pain was due to come. He didn’t understand what was happening.

“Derek?”

Derek’s eyes landed on the door to the room. The voice was from the other side. Stilinski. Knocking.

With less drugs in his system Derek felt the race of fear harder. Understanding and awareness was higher. Panic was inevitable.

“Derek?” the voice tried again. “Are you awake now? Can you please come to the door and open it?”

Derek scrambled out of the bed like it had burned him. Despite the fear that coursed through him at the idea, Derek couldn’t help but reach for the door knob. He didn’t see any reason for why the hunter wouldn’t just open the door himself. But Derek just stood there, hand on the handle of the door, wondering if he could just prolong this moment of being safe.

Derek opened it slowly, tense and ready for pain. But he was met only by a kind, smiling face. Even though Derek’s memories were choppy and uncertain, he was pretty sure that Stilinski hadn’t had a kind look on his face when he had stepped into Derek’s cell.

Derek took a step backwards, just the sight of the hunter sent fear racing through him. His claws were begging to spring from his fingers—to dig into the flesh of the hunter. But Derek was afraid.

Stilinski didn’t react to Derek’s flinch, but simply to the sight of him. His eyes softened and watered as his lips pulled into a fragile smile. His hands which were hanging at his sides both moved upward slightly with twitching fingers, like Stilinski was fighting his own instincts. But that of a different kind.

“Derek,” he breathed out like he hadn’t asked his mouth to cooperate, it just couldn’t help itself. But upon meeting Derek’s eyes—who quickly looked to the floor in submission—Stilinski seemed to recollect himself with a hard breath in. He simply stepped sideways, opening a path for Derek to the hallway. “Why don’t you come down stairs and get some food. We’ll talk, and I’ll explain this all to you.”

Derek eyed him, heart pounding in his chest. He tried to fight off the shaking that had started in his hands but it was no good. He wanted to attack this man—his capture. Bury fangs and claws into his skin, rip him apart, toss him high into the air to crush his bones against the wall. But, as it had been for a long time, Derek could feel none of his strength. Claws were not at his beck and call, neither were fangs. He could only flash his eyes, but even then it was like zapping strength from him on the inside.

“Come on, I won’t hurt you,” the hunter said. And Derek could see that around his waist was a vial of sorts. A weapon. A drug. He wasn’t sure. But Derek had no choice but to do as he was told. Keeping his sight on the hunter, he edged out of the room, waiting to be struck.

The hunter began walking, not even looking back to make sure Derek was following. But Derek was. He didn’t know what was happening yet but he would do whatever he could to avoid the worst of it.

He was lead to a big room with a sink, stove, oven, microwave, fridge, and various other electronics. A kitchen.

Stilinski walked over to the counter before gesturing towards the table where chairs circled about it. “Feel free to sit down in one of the chairs. You can sit or stand for right now. Whatever you prefer.”

Derek blinked in face of an option. Sit. Stand. He didn’t know which the hunter would prefer him to do so he kept an eye for a reaction as he neared the chairs. The hunter said nothing as he watched Derek sit down, simply smiled a bit.

The correct decision then.

“Now,” Stilinski said, picking up two plates from the counter, “we are going to eat some breakfast. We’re going to go over the rules and we’ll talk about where you are and who I am.”

Derek tried to follow the man’s words but everything was still so shifty. Derek was beyond surprised when a plate was set down in front of where he was sitting. He flinched away at first, as the hunter neared him. The flinch seemed to make the hunter pause but he continued to set down the plate as his face flashed with pain and sadness.

“You can eat,” Stilinski said, gesturing towards the silverware on either side of the plate. He picked up his own utensils to cut into a piece of pancake and run it through some syrup.

Derek looked down to see pancakes with whip cream and strawberries on his own plate. He picked up the fork slowly, uncertain. There was sure to be some of the wolfsbane drug in the food as usual, but he was hungry. However, being in a new place meant he needed to pay attention. He didn’t know what was going on. If he ate more he’d lose some of his attention again. Derek was aware enough to recognize even then he had the drug in his system.

“It isn’t poisoned,” Stilinski broke through his thoughts. “I realize you can’t believe me, but most make that assumption when they get here. Normally I’d have made the food while you were here but you looked like you needed to sleep. There isn’t any drugs in it, promise.”

Derek wanted to snort at the promise of a hunter, but he cut off a small piece of the pancake instead. Regardless of the drugs, he needed to eat. He was so hungry that his stomach was burning.

“Well, you were asleep for over eleven hours so I can imagine you’re hungry,” Stilinski said as he watched Derek take the first bite.

It was the first real food Derek could remember having. He sucked in a deep breath at the first taste, letting out an unintentional whine. He knew in that moment that he had tasted real food before because how else could you miss something? It was happiness, all slamming right into him. Derek didn’t care if it would kill him. He wanted this food.

Stilinski chuckled, looking at Derek over his own plate.

Derek froze, waiting. This was it. The moment went the other shoe dropped. Letting Derek having something so perfect and then to take away, to punish him and hurt him and—

“First meal is always the best,” Stilinski informed him before fondly shaking his head and taking another bite of his own food.

Derek shoveled in another forkful, mirroring the gesture. A happy sigh.

“Alright,” Stilinski said, moving to place his hand over a folder that sat beside him. “I guess we better talk about it. Normally it’s the first thing we do when you get here, but I wasn’t—and you still had drugs in your—doesn’t matter. Anyway. We’re in northern California right now, in a safe house.”

Derek stared at him, his fork pausing for a moment as he chewed, letting the words wash over him.

“Err—you can talk or ask questions at any point of this, okay? You don’t need my permission. When I said this was a safe house I meant…well, you’ve heard of me, right? You know my reputation, heard the rumors?”

When the man seemed to pause for a moment, expecting Derek to answer, the wolf simply nodded.

“They’re not true,” Stilinski said simply, he stood, walking away from Derek and the table. He stepped towards the sink and grabbed two glasses. “My name is Stiles. Stiles Stilinski.” He paused then, as if he expected Derek to say something. Something like hope was in his eyes. It was very confusing. “And I’m not a hunter.”

Derek stopped chewing. He stared.

“I know, werewolves we save don’t generally believe us at first. And that’s okay. But I’m part of a movement to get werewolves out of captivity.”

Stilinski made his way back towards the table to set a glass of water before himself and Derek.

Derek gripped it without waiting for permission and took a long swallow. And God was he thirsty. He finished it off right away until the glass was empty. With a slight frown Stilinski reached over to swap the empty glass for his own full one.

“Do you—do you remember anything more? We’ve found that having the wolfsbane in your system for that long can lead to memory loss but…I hoped that maybe as it was slowly getting out of you that you remembered a bit more. Do you know who you are?”

Derek stared back at the man, heavy puffs from drinking so much so quickly. “Derek,” he answered, hesitantly.

Stilinski’s shoulders slumped a bit. “Alright. Maybe when we can get it all out of your system we’ll have more luck. Until then, we’re going to sit tight and get you back to health.”

Derek wasn’t sure what the game was. To trick him? To lead him to trusting the hunter and then getting hurt? It seemed like a strange plan. Derek always got hurt. Why should the hunter give him nice things before hurting him? Was it worse then? Derek didn’t know.

“Okay,” he said, testing the waters.

Stilinski didn’t yell at him for speaking. Instead, he pulled papers out of his folder. “Alright, first things first. We have some rules in place. For both of us.”

Derek was…confused. It was hard to follow what the hunter was saying or what was happening. It was all…too much. Too much movement and noise and thoughts.

“I know you’ve still got a lot of drugs in your system, but I’d like for you to trust me. You’re safe here,” Stilinski said. “I promise.”

_Trust? Promises?_

Stiles turned a paper toward Derek. “Can you read right now?”

Derek didn’t even look at the paper. He shook his head.

“That’s okay. We’ll talk about things and then I’ll write them down.” He paused to look at Derek. “We have some standard rules we usually put in place. I’d like to implement them first, if that’s alright.”

Derek could only blink back at the man.

“Rule number one. Neither of us shall enter the bedroom of the other person. The only exception is if someone is in immediate danger.”

Derek didn’t understand.

“The rule just means you won’t enter my bedroom and I won’t enter yours. It is your room and I will not step inside of it.”

Despite knowing it was a trick, Derek couldn’t help but hope. He could grasp the concept that the man was saying. A room where he wouldn’t get beaten. Get raped. Get hurt.

“Is that okay for the first rule?” Stilinski inquired.

“Yes,” Derek agreed, angry because he knew that hope was stupid.

“Alright, rule number two. Neither of us shall rape the other.”

Derek jerked back in his chair, reeling away from the table. He felt himself starting to shake, unable to look away from the set of brown eyes that stared at him.

“What?”

Stilinski looked as if he were gutted. “So that’s…I mean that’s generally a rule in case that’s something the werewolf has had to…but you? They—Jesus Christ, Derek.” The man shut his eyes, obviously making a physical effort to be calm. He opened them again. “Well it is generally easier if these rules are cut and dry but, I’m very serious Derek. I will not rape you. Not in this house. Not at all. I won’t try to touch you in any way—not like that. I won’t force myself on you nor will I allow anyone else to rape you. I swear, Derek. I promise. I won’t.”

Derek’s breathing was coming out ragged as he stared at the man. Derek so badly wished he could hear the man’s heart beat. Hear the lie. Not allow himself to be pulled into a false sense of security. “No rape,” Derek said, breathing out slowly and then nodding. “Okay.”

Stilinski bit his bottom lip, a habit that made him look very young. “Rule three, neither of us shall physically harm the other person.”

Derek frowned. He knew it was a lie. He was always beaten. He would be hurt. This man would hurt him.

The man seemed to understand. “Derek, I will not beat you. I won’t hurt you. I will not do any physically painful acts upon your person. Now, I hope that you can extend me the same curtesy. I don’t want to hurt you but if you attack me I will defend myself. Alright?’

Derek swallowed, confused. “I don’t hurt you, you don’t hurt me? How could I hurt you?” His words came out slow and slurred. Derek’s tongue felt numb.

“Well,” Stilinski pointed at Derek. “You’ve got claws and freaky strength so that tends to help.”

“The…the drugs won’t let me change,” Derek bit out, his heart hammering. He wasn’t getting punished for speaking. He didn’t understand.

“Yeah,” the hunter agreed, “but we’re clearing your system of it. You should slowly be able to use your abilities again. So like, when that happens I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t try to maim me.”

“Why are you doing this?” Derek demanded, and he’d have said it with heat and fury if he had the strength. “Why are your promising me such things?” Derek didn’t know where the words were coming from. He couldn’t remember a time he’d spoken so much. Said thoughts aloud. Yelled in reaction to something other than pain.

Stilinski didn’t react to the change in tone, just shrugged with sad eyes. “I’m trying to help you, Derek. I am not hunter. I told you that. Maybe after some time, you’ll actually believe me. Maybe when you can hear my heart. I don’t know. But I swear, you’re not my prisoner.”

“You’re lying,” Derek informed him, with a snapping tone. “I know you’re lying. You’d never be kind to a monster.”

Stilinski went still then, his eyes going dark. Derek too stopped moving, suddenly afraid. He’d pushed too far. Said the wrong thing. Angered a hunter. This was the end of the pretend.

“You. Are. Not. A monster,” the man growled instead, low and impressive for a human. “You’re a person. A real human being who should be treated as such. I’m not doing you any favors right now, Derek. I’m not giving you anything you don’t deserve just for the fact that you breathe and think and live. They took that away from you, but they didn’t erase you or your right to be a human being.”

Derek’s body sunk down, his arms up to cover around his head. The tone of the voice he heard promised a beating.

But it never came. Instead, when Derek looked up he opened his eyes slowly, hesitant.

All he saw was Stilinski staring at him with tears running down his face. He was biting on his lower lip, his eyebrows lowered and his shoulders drooping. “Sorry,” he said after a moment, taking in a deep breath through his nose. “I swear I’m usually better at this. It’s just—normally the werewolves I’m trying to help aren’t…you.”

Derek didn’t understand. He was tired again. The food in his belly was relaxing, but now his eyelids were beginning to droop.

Stilinski straightened, a smile pulling at his lips. “Aright, big guy. You look like you could use a nap. Let’s get you to bed.”

 A moment later and they were at the door to the bedroom Derek had been in earlier. Derek couldn’t remember how they got there. If he’d followed the hunter or if the hunter had pulled him along or—but Derek pushed the door open.

The bed looked inviting. Warm and comfortable and safe.

“Go ahead, you need to sleep.”

Derek’s feet carried him forward, stumbling towards the bed without grace or balance. He looked back a few times, to watch the man’s face as he moved to the bed. Derek hadn’t figured it out yet. What the trick was. But he knew there was a trick. And it would hurt.

Even after be up only for a few hours, Derek fell asleep quickly. The last thing he heard was the door to his room being shut lightly. And then he was unconscious once more.

 


	2. But I'll Keep You Forever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Cough cough* so I haven't updated this story in ages but I hadn't decided if I wanted to effort into this one but I kind of decided I wanted to? So here we are.

 “Hey, Dad,” Stiles said softly into the phone. He clutched it hard to his face like if he pressed close enough, his father would really be beside him.

_“Stiles! Lydia said you found him? You found—”_

“Yeah,” Stiles said with a sniffle, his hands shaking and his head pounding. “I found Derek. He’s sleeping right now but…he seems mostly okay. I mean—you know. But it’s him. He’s alive.”

 _“He still doesn’t remember you?”_ The sheriff’s voice was low and understanding and it made Stiles want to scream.

“No,” he agreed. “Derek doesn’t seem to remember anything.”

 _“Some start to remember once all the drugs are out of their system,”_ the sheriff reminded him kindly.

Stiles whipped away a tear as it burned down his face. “A very small percent,” Stiles agreed. Enough to hope but not enough to expect it.

_“But you found him. That’s the important thing.”_

Stiles took in a shaky breath and nodded, even though his father couldn’t see him. “You’re right. Even if he…even if he never remembers me...I found him.” Found a man chained and dirty in a cell. Found a man scared and powerless. Found someone so unlike Derek that it hurt.

His father must have heard something in his voice. Or maybe he just knew Stiles too well. _“Oh, kid,_ ” the sheriff sighed. “ _I’m sorry.”_

“I wish I’d have found him earlier. You should see him, Dad. He’s so scared. He’s scared of me! Of me! And…I think they raped him, Dad. I think they beat him and raped him and tortured him and starved him and…It’s my fault! I should have been able to find him—to save him!”

The sheriff’s voice went rough and stern. _“You did save him! Don’t you dare put this on yourself, Stiles. Derek wouldn’t want that. He loves you.”_

“He’s gone!” Stiles shouted into the phone. “Derek is gone and all that is left is this scared man who hates me. He hates me so much. He probably wants me dead. I would.”

“ _Stop.”_ The sheriff whispered into the phone. _“He needs time, Stiles. I know it’s hard but Lydia was right. You need to treat him like all the other survivors we bring in. I’m sorry. I know it’s going to hurt, but we can’t get anyone else down to you right now. The best thing for Derek is for him to slowly learn you’re not the bad guy and that he is safe. I’m sorry, Stiles. I really am. But we have to think of Derek.”_

Stiles scrubbed at his face. “I know. I want to be here. I need to be here for him. I still—God, Dad I still love him.” Just looking at his face was enough to make Stiles lose his breath. So not much had changed. “I love him so much, Dad. I never stopped loving him. I thought—Jesus, I—I love him more than anything.”

_“I know. God, Stiles I know that.”_

A beeping sounded through the room and Stiles shot up straight. “I gotta go, Dad. He’s up now.”

_“Okay, kid. Take care of him.  I love you.”_

“I will,” Stiles promised. “Love you, too.”

He whipped away the remaining tears on his face and took a deep breath. It wouldn’t do for Derek to see his tears.  


* * *

 

 

 

Waking up this time came slowly for Derek. It was the silence that really threw him. No matter what, there was always sounds in the cells. But here it was total silence. He sat up slowly, his eyes casting around the room again. It took him a long moment with a fast beating heart to remember where he was. Stilinski. The house.

He took a moment to study the room. It was fairly large, warm looking and feeling as he sat in there. Everything was clean. It was almost scary how comfortable it was.

Derek shifted on the bed and recognized then what had woken him. He needed to pee.

Panic. Derek tried to stay calm but he wasn’t sure what to do. He didn’t yet understand what was happening or why he was there. He didn’t know what game Stilinski was playing. It was terrifying to say the least. No matter what he did, he could do it wrong.

He looked at the door. Stilinski had promised safety within the confines of this room. Derek couldn’t believe him, but walking out the door almost seemed like asking for hurt. Staying in would mean pissing in the room and Derek didn’t know if that was what he was supposed to do. Or if he was to be punished for that. He didn’t know.

Derek hesitantly brought himself to the door and placed a hand on the door knob. He stared down at his hand. He couldn’t turn the knob, couldn’t bare it. In this moment he was safe. Derek was going to screw it up. He knew it.

Yet he opened the door.

The door swung open silently, revealing a hallway. It was still and quiet even as Derek stood there, breathing heavily. He didn’t know how long he’d been standing there but suddenly the hallway was no longer empty.

“Hey! So you’re up again…you only slept for a few more hours but that’s good. We can get you some more food, if you’d like,” Stilinski said in a kind voice.

Derek flinched, staring at the man and debating the merits of swinging himself back inside the room.

Stilinski studied him though and then some sort of realization crossed his face. “Do you need to use the bathroom, Derek?” Derek wasn’t sure how he knew, what gave him away. “There’s a toilet just over here across the hall. You’re welcome to use it.”

Derek glared at him, waiting in the silence for a moment.

“I can show it to you if you’d like? You took a shower in there yesterday but…you were kinda out of it?”

Derek swallowed hard.

“I—uh, can leave? Would that be better?”

Derek was frozen in place. He couldn’t answer, all he could do was stare. He was so certain he would be hurt. So ready for the pain to come. He knew it would come.

“Derek?”

“Could you show me where it is?” Derek asked as calm as he could.

The man’s face lit up, his eyes widening and a smile stretching across his face. “Yes! It’s just, right here. There are towels beneath the sink if you want to take a shower now or later. Or if you’re hungry again I can make some food. Or you can get some more sleep.”

Derek followed the man a short ways to another room. It was brightly lit with a shower.

“Is it okay if I take a shower and then…food again?”

Stilinski smiled softly, brown eyes going warm. “Yeah, Derek that’s fine. I’ll have something on the table for us by the time you get out. Okay?”

Derek nodded, eyeing the man carefully. He edged into the bathroom, never turning his back on Stilinski as he crept into the room.

The man watched him go but took a step farther from the door to give Derek a wider berth. “I’ll have a new set of clothes sitting just outside the door when you get out, okay?” He stared at Derek even as he backed up. He smiled slightly and then took of down the hall with stumbling steps.

Derek shut the door to the bathroom, sagging against it as he was alone again. He shut his eyes and rested his forehead against the smooth wood and breathed. Slowly he turned, surveying the bathroom as he did so. It was small with a tub/shower just opposite of him. There was also a single sink and toilet. Beneath the sink was a small cupboard that a quick investigation provided a stack of white towels.

Derek pulled one out and rested it on the sink before peeing and then looking at the shower. His actions were slow and uncertain and his brain was even more so. He had to look at the shower knob a long time before realizing he had to turn it on. He gripped the knob, turning it slightly and then startling backwards when water came out. He ran a hand through it to find it cold. He looked at the knob again, turning it farther despite the racing of his heart that was telling him he shouldn’t. He couldn’t have warm water. Something bad would happen.

He kept swerving his head towards the door as if someone would appear and break it down. But no one did.

One foot and then the other, Derek stepped into the bathtub, wincing to find the water to hot until he turned it down a bit. He looked about to find various bottles on the tub edge. Hesitant, he picked one bottle up and squinted at it.

_Shampoo_

Derek felt his lips pull into a foreign smile as he recognized the word. He stopped then, setting it down to just let the water hit him for a moment.

He could recall what had happened before he’d fallen asleep last time. Everything was blurry and uncertain. But he remembered the man telling him he wasn’t a hunter. He was in a safe house.

That Derek wouldn’t be beaten or raped.

Derek tried to calm down even as he felt his heart rate begin to pick up again. Safe? The man wanted Derek to believe he was safe? That this place was not meant to torment? That his house was not a cell? That his words were not as laced with lies as the food surely would be with wolfsbane? Derek was supposed to believe that this man saw him as anything other than a monster?

Derek would not allow this man to hurt him with his false hope and real pain. If the hunter wanted to play a game than Derek would not disappoint. He would act his bit. He would accept the food. Speak. Relish in the sound of his name. He would pretend that he was safe. He would pretend that he was to be treated as a human. But not for one moment, not a single moment, would Derek allow himself to believe it.

Tilting his head back, he let the water hit his face and drip down his body. He scrubbed at his skin as if the water could wash away years of filth. Like he could erase their hand prints from his person and take back his own body. Make it his again and not theirs.

He poured soap into his hands cleaned himself up. He raked his hands through his hair and beard. He watched the water run black as he circled the drain. He wondered how many showers he’d have to take before it wasn’t gross anymore.

Time was uncertain as it always was. Derek didn’t know how long he’d been in the shower. He dried himself off with the white towel and found himself at the sink. Above the faucet was a mirror hanging on the wall. Derek stared at his reflection with curiosity and awe. He didn’t know the man in the mirror. The man before him was not familiar to him. He did not recognize his own reflection.

Derek picked up the shirt and pants he had been wearing. They were not the clothes he’d worn in his cell. He must have been given new clothes upon arrival when he had first had a light shower. But they were blackened by his remaining filth as he had slept in them. Now he was clean and reluctant to step back into them which he found odd. He nearly forgot to check outside the door.

There was a little pile in the hallway of clothing. A pair of pants that were stretchy and a shirt that was warm. Underwear. Socks. A pair of shoes that were soft cloth and very flexible. He pulled on the new clothing and was comforted at the soft, warm feeling they gave him. Again Derek turned to look in the mirror. He looked more…human.

Derek knew better though.

“Derek,” he said then, staring his reflection in the eye. He tested the name out a few more times, getting used to the taste on his tongue. He sighed, turning to the door.

He found himself in an empty hallway. His head was beginning to get spiny again, clouded by time and energy he had used up.

He wasn’t sure which way he was meant to go. The room he’d slept in was….somewhere. The kitchen was elsewhere. It was…starting to scare him.

His lips trembled as he opened them, his hands sweaty and shaky as he clasped them together, his eyes fast and darting as he looked around. “S—Sti—” he called loud until his voice stopped mid-word. He licked his lips and tried again. “Stilinski?” He let out a breath, the world starting to swirl like water.

There was a loud set of thumping that came in rapid succession only to grow louder and then stop. “Derek,” the hunter said, voice wavering with concern.

Derek hated it. Hated him for it. For the lies that weren’t just words, but the sound of his voice, the look on his face, the tension in his shoulders.

“Lost,” Derek managed.

Stilinski smiled sadly, stepping towards Derek with purposeful slowness. “It’s okay. You still hungry?”

Derek nodded. He wasn’t actually sure but he didn’t know what else to do but nod.

Stilinski took hold of his arm and Derek allowed him to be steered, despite the fact that the touch made him want to run.

“You—uh, you can call me Stiles,” the hunter said in a soft murmur as they walked a calm pace down the hallway. “Everyone calls me Stiles. My first name was too complicated so when I was a kid it just stuck. Stiles, I mean. So you can call me that if you’d rather. Err—unless you’d prefer Stilinski. Whatever you’re comfortable with. I just…uh, feel a bit weird being called my last name by you. Not that you’re weird—I—”

Derek didn’t understand why it was easier to walk then, less scary. The words passed over him with little comprehension but it was almost comforting. The constant chatter.

“Okay,” he said for lack of other words. He cleared his throat. “Stiles.”

The man stopped then. His feet suddenly seemed to be glued to the floor. His eyes were on Derek, wide and open. “Oh.”

Derek stopped with him, blinking back with uncertainty.

But Stilinski–no, Stiles began walking again, leading Derek onward with a careful smile.

“I thought some soup might be good for you,” Stiles said like the silence between them was worse than anything else. “But don’t worry, it isn’t spicy or anything. I know you—” he cut off, his face scrunching into something strange. He shook his head and began talking again. “So we can get some more food in you and then you can get some more sleep. Those drugs are already getting out of your system but…wolfsbane is a bit of a bitch to get rid of. But you will be okay.”

Derek didn’t know what to say so he said nothing. He focused instead on walking, trying not to trip even at the slow pace they were walking. He watched the floor and his feet, shuffling them to keep him upward and moving.

“Here,” Stiles announced and Derek was surprised to find himself back in the kitchen.

Stiles went to the counter to pull two plates off of it, bringing them over to the table to set on either end. One for Derek and one for himself. And then he sat down.

Derek walked over with a slowness he hated but couldn’t help. He neared the seat, studying Stiles’ face as he sank into the chair. Still ever wary. But the hunter didn’t comment.

They began eating. It was hard for Derek to use silverware. He kept dropping them and fumbling with them, flinching every time at the loud noise and the anticipation of a blow. But Stiles never said anything. He just carried on with his perfected ease.

It was awhile before the silence was broken.

“Do you remember what we talked about before?” Stiles asked, taking a drink of water.

Derek copied him, sipping from the glass. His eyebrows furrowed.

“Do you remember the rules we made?” Stiles persisted.

Derek nodded.

“Do you remember me telling you about what I do? About the movement to help werewolves?”

Derek hesitated a moment and then nodded again.

Stiles gave him a small smile, calm and kind like a reward. “The idea is that we convinced others that we take werewolves to secure facilities to prevent overflow in smaller cells and such. But the truth is that we bring werewolves that have been locked up to safe houses. One of us will stay with a werewolf to make sure that they’re comfortable. Fed. And safe.”

Stiles paused, like he was checking to see if Derek was following.

Derek wasn’t sure if he was.

“You’re at one of our safe houses,” Stiles continued, watching Derek. “A lot of werewolves, like yourself, have been drugged while the hunters had them in captivity. Long exposure to wolfsbane in the system plus the abuse and neglected care you’ve received many lose their memoires completely. You seem to be one of these cases, though we’re lucky that you can remember your name.”

Derek blinked up at him, wondering about that. Luck. Was he lucky? What an odd concept.

“It’ll take weeks before the wolfsbane is out of your system, and then probably months before you’ve completely adjusted to your abilities again. Maybe your memory will come back, maybe it won’t. We’ll have to see.”

Derek swallowed, nodding. “Okay.”

“There are a couple of things we generally do to try to help werewolves adjust. If there is ever a time when you’re not comfortable or you want to stop than you can. I won’t make you do anything. If you’d like to stay in your room awhile, that’s okay too.”

 “You won’t go in my room,” Derek said.

Stiles stopped to look at him. “What?”

“It’s one of the rules,” Derek said, sinking down, not certain why he’d opened his mouth. He was really going to get it.

But Stiles beamed at him, nodding. “You’re right. I won’t go in your room. And if it makes you feel better to stay in there, then you can. It’s your space.”

And then they go back to eating. Derek doesn’t eat as much as Stiles wishes he would. But Stiles doesn’t say anything. He tries very hard not to stare at Derek the whole meal. But that’s hard to do because every moment Derek isn’t in his sight, Stiles feels like he might lose him again.

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles missed Derek. He hated how stupid that was, because Derek was right down the hall, but it wasn’t right. He didn’t need Derek to be fixed or perfect. But he missed hearing Derek laugh. And seeing him smile. And more than anything in the world, Stiles missed the way Derek’s arms felt around him. Stiles missed Derek being okay if for no reason other than he wanted him to be happy.

But for now, Derek was sad and afraid. Stiles could see the differences that shifted in Derek as the wolfsbane began to get out of his system. Derek could follow Stiles’ words and meanings better. His movements weren’t as sluggish. He did sleep a lot but he also ate a lot too. Like his body was switching right into repairs as the wolfsbane decreased.

Despite all of this, Derek flinched violently when Stiles got too close. He spent most of his time in his room. The only time Derek came out of his room was to eat and use the bathroom. It wasn’t uncommon. Stiles hated how much the avoidance hurt, even though he understood it.

It shouldn’t be that much longer, Stiles didn’t think, before Derek was able to recollect his bearings. Even if his memory didn’t return, Derek would find a way to make sense of the world around him. Derek was amazing like that, snapping back from disaster.

Stiles wondered if this time, this disaster, broke the camel’s back though.

“Can we talk?”

Stiles nearly had a heart attack. He spun, eyes wide and heart racing. “Derek.”

Derek stood there awkwardly, not quite meeting Stiles’ eyes. “Things are less—it’s easier to think now. I don’t…” He trailed off, shifting awkwardly.

“We can sit at the table?” Stiles suggested.

Derek jerked his head upward, finally looking Stiles in the face. “Yes.”

The corners of Stiles’ mouth twitched upward, but he fights it back. He carefully moved himself toward the kitchen table. “How are you feeling?”

Derek sat across from him, the hesitation in seating himself still present—but less frightening. “I still don’t remember before the cells. I’ve been trying. I know—reasonably I know there had to have been a _before_ but I can’t remember.”

“It’s okay Derek,” Stiles reassured him though he felt his own stomach twisting. “Even if you never remember, you will get through this.”

“I want to remember,” Derek whispered. He sighed then, looking down at the table top. “I want to ask you something.”

“Anything,” Stiles prompted.

“It’s about the rules.” Derek’s focus went to the papers taped to the kitchen wall. The rules, typed up in large letters for reading and seeing hung proudly. “I—I know that they’re rules. I understand,” he paused, his eyebrows furrowing together slightly like he was getting frustrated with himself. “I understand that you can’t h-hit me or rape me because we made the rules.” He stopped then, eyes darting to Stiles and then back to the table. “But even if they weren’t rules, you wouldn’t want to hurt me anyway, right?”

Stiles gripped the table tightly, his fingers folding over the edge. He was shaking. He knew he was shaking he couldn’t get himself to stop. “I,” he licked his lips, “would never hurt you, Derek. Even if the rules weren’t there I would never intentionally harm you in any way. I would rather die.”

Derek relaxed. His shoulders fell forward a bit and his back wasn’t so stiff. “And that means you’re not a hunter.”

Stiles had to clear his throat a couple times, looking away from the love of his life. “There’s a story we tell werewolves when they’re feeling up to it. A simple story really, but it helps some people figure things out sometimes.”

Derek gave Stiles all his focus, which in his current state wasn’t as much as he’d like it to be. “A story?”

“Yeah, about a boy. It has a nice ending. I could tell it to you if you’d like.”

Derek considered that for a moment. “If I don’t like it…will you stop?”

Stiles looked back at the werewolf. “Yes.”

Derek nodded quickly, short and tense.

Stiles leaned back in his chair, taking a quick look at the time and then smiling at Derek again. “It’s a true story. We skip over anything and anyone that isn’t important and we tell werewolves about the Boy in the Woods.”

It was an exercise they did regularly. It helped healing wolves work on their concentration as well as help them readjust to a certain thinking. Stiles liked the story. It made him think of his friends and Derek fondly when he told the simple telling of Scott McCall.

“The Boy was young and kind,” Stiles told Derek with a grin. “He wanted to help people and be a good person. But one night he went out into the woods. Now the boy didn’t know it, but there was someone else in the woods: a Bad Wolf. The boy was just walking along and the Bad Wolf attacked him.”

Derek frowned, taking in the story sadly. He understood. Wolves were monsters. He’d heard it enough. But hadn’t this man, Stiles, told him he wasn’t?

“But this wolf was an Alpha, and when he bit the Boy in the Woods, he turned that boy into a werewolf too.” Stiles leaned back in his chair, shutting his eyes a moment to remember the face of a young Scott McCall. “When the Boy in the Woods went home he was very scared. He didn’t know how to be a werewolf. He was afraid of being a monster.”

Stiles looked at Derek, smiling lightly. “But then he met another wolf who wanted to help the boy. The Good Wolf wanted to make sure that the boy was safe and happy and good. And he warned Boy in the Woods about hunters who might want to hurt the boy. The Good Wolf was a very kind man. When the Bad Wolf became too dangerous, the Boy in the Woods and the Good Wolf worked together to keep everyone else safe. They stopped the Bad Wolf.”

Derek was staring at Stiles with awe, hanging on his every word as if he was telling a marvelous tale instead of a simplified children’s story. It was heart breaking and heartwarming and Stiles wanted only to give the man a hug.

“But there were also hunters in the area.”

Derek growled, his eyes widening as he realized the noise was coming from himself but Stiles just continued.

“One hunter had hurt the Good Wolf before. She was terrible and mean. She was a bad person. The Bad Hunter wanted to hurt all werewolves, calling them monsters. But there was another hunter there who had met the Boy in the Woods and fell in love with him—even though he was a werewolf. She was kind and strong and wanted to be good. The Good Hunter helped the two wolves, The Good Wolf and the Boy in the Woods stop the Bad Wolf and the Bad Hunter so that they could be safe. They all became good friends who watched over each other and cared for each other very deeply. And they all lived happily ever after.”

Derek was staring at Stiles as if he had two heads. “The hunter didn’t think the wolves were monsters?”

Stiles took in a deep breath, smiling kindly. “Which hunter?”

That seemed to throw Derek through a loop. His face scrunched up and he sat there silently a moment. “The—The Good Hunter.”

“No, the Good Hunter understood that there are good people and bad people just like there are good wolves and bad wolves.”

Derek considered this a long time. They sat there in silence, Stiles taking the time to study Derek, his eyes roaming over the bridge of Derek’s nose and the familiar curve of his jaw. After awhile, Derek looked up at him. “Which am I?”

Stiles blinked back at him. “What do you mean?”

Derek was sort of shrinking in on himself. “Am I a good wolf or a bad wolf?”

“Derek, you’re one of the best people I have ever met.”

Derek’s bottom lip began to quiver and then his eyes welled up with tears. His shoulders began to wrack as he clutched his arms to his chest. A horrible whine escaped out of his mouth, a wet and trembling sort of sound that turned into a low sob. The tears came fast then, big and burning.

“Oh, Derek,” Stiles whispered and stood up automatically. And then he froze, staring at the man he’d missed so much and wondered if he was even allowed to touch him. Carefully, Stiles reached forward and gripped Derek’s shoulder.

Derek flinched but then leaned into the contact, his eyes slamming shut and his whole body convulsing with his crying. “I’m sorry,” Derek managed. “I—I don’t know what I did, why they hated me. I don’t understand. I just—I j-just wanted it to stop. They held me down and hurt me and raped me. I b-begged them to st-stop but they wouldn’t. They screamed in my ears and I—I don’t want to be a monster anymore. I d-don’t want to b-be a m-m-monster.”

“Shh,” Stiles whispered, his own eyes filling with tears. “Derek you did nothing. They were awful people and you didn’t deserve what they did to you. You’re a good person, Derek. You aren’t a monster. I promise, Derek. God, I promise. It’s going to be okay now. I’ve got you, Der. I’ve got you.”

Eventually Stiles ended up at Derek’s side, awkwardly squatting beside him and taking most of Derek’s weight. Stiles wasn’t sure if Derek was even aware anymore, too caught up in himself.

Stiles didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know what to say. He just wanted to make all of the pain that Derek held leave. He wanted to pull it right out of Derek and soak it into his own skin. "You're safe now, Derek. I'll never lose you again. You're safe now."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please Review on you're way out! Thanks!


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